Don't Tell Merlin's Mum or Arthur's Dad
by ForzaDelDestino
Summary: Sequel to "The Prat's in Love." Uther invites eligible ladies to a banquet for Arthur's perusal; Merlin's mother arrives in Camelot on a visit. Ignorance is bliss--for the parents anyway. Merthur slash. Chapters 1 thru 5, plus Epilogue. R & R plz.
1. Chapter 1

[_A sequel to "__**The Prat's in Love**__." Uther holds a tournament and banquet, to which he invites an assortment of eligible young noblewomen for Arthur's inspection. At the same time, Merlin's mother arrives at Camelot for a visit. The dilemma: how to keep both parents from finding out that their offspring are a bit closer than most people think. Gaius, Gwen, and Morgana may have their suspicions, but God forbid that Uther hears of it. __**Subtext:**__ Merlin's weight loss. Everyone's telling him he needs to eat. Is it only me or has anyone else noticed that young Mr. Morgan is quite a bit thinner than he was in the first season. This is Chapter One, other chapters to follow._]

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**Chapter 1: Morning in Camelot**

King Uther Pendragon was an early riser. It was something he did out of habit, and it pleased him to be up and about before most of the court was stirring. The servants of course arose even earlier, just before dawn, as Uther expected them to be ready to attend him in the audience hall, in his study, in the courtyard, at a moment's notice. There was little point in maintaining a large household, he often mused, unless all of the lackeys, grooms, guards, heralds, maidservants, manservants, and kitchen help were well trained, neatly and appropriately attired, mannerly, and punctual.

Which made it all the more difficult for him to understand his son Arthur's reliance on that lackadaisical lad he had taken for a manservant. It had been Uther who had first appointed him to the job, the king reminded himself, as a reward for services rendered, although Arthur had later sacked him and then re-hired him with an amazing alacrity. Really, it was a king's–or a prince's–duty to himself to have an attendant who did him credit, and this young Merlin with his boyish grin and unprepossessing wardrobe was hardly the sort of manservant a crown prince should have at his side on a constant basis. (Even when one dressed him up in the proper regalia–the feathered hat for example–the effect was verging on comical.) Only the day before Uther had looked out of the window to see Arthur, just returned from a hunt, crossing the courtyard with his characteristic rapid stride, Merlin loping alongside him with his gear, for all the world like an overgrown pup with a bone. No sense of dignity or pride in his office. No reverence for members of the nobility. Not that the boy was totally lacking in appeal, Uther acknowledged ruefully, for it was obvious that Morgana, her maid Guinevere, and many a baron's wife had made quite a pet of him, rumpling his hair as he passed, saving delicacies from the supper table for him, and treating him with the kind of affection usually reserved for blood relatives. That he had a certain charm Uther was grudgingly able to admit, and that he was an attractive youth he had to accept, based on the way girls often glanced in his direction. But honestly, this tendency of Arthur's to have him around from dawn until dusk...it lacked reason and it lacked sense.

The king looked out of the nearest window to gauge the weather and was relieved to see that yesterday's rain had vanished, leaving only a heavy golden mist that hovered over the fields beyond the barbican. He could see the rich tilled earth, the faint green of fledgling crops, and further away, a froth of pink that told him the fruit blossoms were already on the trees in the orchard. Off in the distance he could see a few peasants with oxen, one or two early morning travelers on the road leading out from the gates of Camelot. It was a lyrically beautiful scene but this type of beauty did not register with Uther. Precision, order, restraint, and rigid discipline–these were the things that Uther considered worthy of admiration.

A narrow shaft of sunlight, rich with dust motes, came through the gap in the heavy curtains of the window near Arthur's bed. It was a modest source of light but enough to wake Merlin, and a moment later a hint of birdsong outside told him that the day had begun.

He raised his head from the prince's chest and shifted his weight as stealthily as he could so as not to disturb him. Arthur still slept deeply, face half turned into the pillow, the fine linen sheet crumpled and bunched just below his muscular shoulders. Merlin pulled the sheet and coverlet up to Arthur's chin and then turned on his side to watch him sleep, his own expression one of fond exasperation.

It was a month since they had first loved each other, and this was perhaps only their fourth or fifth time together in secret. It wasn't easy for them to be alone; most mornings either Uther demanded Arthur's presence or Gaius required Merlin's. It was not uncommon for Morgana to drop into Arthur's chamber unannounced. Evenings were even more difficult: there were state dinners to attend, impromptu concerts in the great hall–for which servants were required to be present–and lately Uther had been keeping Arthur at his side until quite late at night. On the rare occasions when Uther was elsewhere the two would make their way to Arthur's room, walking nonchalantly down the long corridors, studiously avoiding each other's eyes or the eyes of anyone else passing by them. Only in the crown prince's chamber, with the door securely bolted, could they grin stupidly at each other, embrace hungrily, insult one another affectionately ("Prat!" "Idiot!" "Clotpole!"), sprawl together in front of the fire to talk. (During these moments Merlin was happy to be told that he had become an accomplished kisser.) More often than not an impatient Arthur would simply launch himself at Merlin, pinning him to the bed before either of them could so much as remove one article of clothing.

"_Mine!_" he would murmur into Merlin's ear, "All mine!"

"Arthur," Merlin would reply softly, "Take off that hauberk, it _hurts!_"

Now Arthur shifted against the pillow and his eyes opened just a crack.

"_Mer_lin." The way he said it turned the name into a caress.

There simply could not be any prince in the British isles handsomer than Arthur, Merlin thought to himself as he met the prince's steady blue gaze. Certainly in Albion he was quite unmatched for looks, not to mention his skill at arms. He reached out and brushed Arthur's fair hair out of his eyes, pushing it back from his brow before the hand was caught in a steely grasp and Arthur pulled him down beside him.

The crown prince ran his own hand gently over Merlin's collarbones, and then his eyes narrowed.

"Merlin, for pity's sake. We must feed you up."

"Feed...? I'm not complaining, I get enough food."

"I could snap you in two with one hand, I swear."

"I dare you," Merlin replied with a smile, but he knew what Arthur was talking about. The past four weeks he'd been run ragged, between his castle duties and his studies with Gaius, and that, combined with the intensity of his newly awakened passion, had genuinely kept him off his food.

"Really Merlin, if you don't eat two helpings at dinner, and one of Gwen's custard pies afterward, I promise I'll thrash you."

"You and whose army?" Merlin muttered, but Arthur wasn't going to let it alone. He ran his eyes over Merlin's upper body, so lean and pale, before meeting his eyes. Those eyes, a cool blue fringed with dark lashes in the delicate pallor of his face, were so irresistible that Arthur pulled Merlin against him, then rested one hand lightly on his hip while he ran the fingers of his other hand through the black hair that was fine and silky on the nape of Merlin's neck.

"Custard pie _and_ strawberries with cream," he whispered, "Mmmm," but a sudden authoritative rap on the door startled them both into silence.

"Arthur." It was Uther's voice.

There was a muffled crash as Merlin rolled off the bed and then under it, while Arthur vaulted from the mattress to the floor, reaching for the nightshirt that lay discarded on a chair. Seconds later, features composed if a trifle flushed, he pulled the door open to face his father.

"Arthur," Uther repeated, his eyes darting across the room before returning to his son's face. "Are you aware of what time it is?"

"I wasn't feeling quite the thing, sorry," Arthur replied, grateful for the half-closed curtains and praying that nothing of Merlin's was visible in the growing morning light. "Anyway, the knights don't need me this morning, they know what they're supposed to do."

"Perhaps you're forgetting that we have to prepare for the tournament next week?"

_Not another one_, Arthur groaned mentally, but aloud he merely said, "No, I've not forgotten. Merlin will see to my destrier."

"It will be hand to hand sword fighting, no horses. Don't you recall when I told the earl of Glastonbury yesterday? And after the tourney we have a feast, with dancing."

Arthur murmured something that sounded like "Yes, of course," but he was wide awake now, and Uther could see that he was restless.

"You'd better dress and come down to the courtyard," he said curtly, his eyes scanning the room again with an assessing gleam that Arthur found unnerving. "It appears you'll have to dress yourself; from the look of things your manservant is late again."

The prince gave his father a polite half-smile and waited until Uther pivoted and stalked off down the corridor, his face a mask of displeasure. Only when the door was shut and bolted again did he breathe a noisy sigh of relief.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," came Merlin's voice from behind him. "From the look of things your bloody manservant is late again."

Arthur turned to find Merlin standing by the side of the bed, fully dressed, holding out his white shirt and crimson jacket. Once the shirt had been pulled over his head he resisted the urge to press Merlin back against the bedpost, and wrestled his arms into the sleeves of the jacket instead. No sooner was he dressed than another, softer, knock was heard. When the door swung open it revealed Guinevere, one arm laden with freshly laundered towels, a basket containing Morgana's breakfast things slung over the other.

"Excuse me, my lord," Gwen said courteously. "I thought I might find Merlin here and I have a message for him."

Merlin looked up with the wide grin that Gwen, her mistress, and many others found completely disarming.

"Good morning Gwen," he and Arthur said in unison. Gwen burst out laughing and Merlin noticed that Arthur was looking at her appreciatively. Not that he minded, he had known for some time that Arthur found Guinevere pretty, and he himself was drawn to her singular, somewhat exotic attractiveness. He felt no jealousy--no, never of Gwen, she was such a dear, and he sensed that she too had conflicted feelings about both the prince and himself.

"A message, Gwen?" he asked as he placed one of Arthur's boots next to the chair; the other he accidentally dropped on the prince's foot. Ducking to avoid the gentle cuff Arthur aimed at his ear, he took the towels from Gwen's grasp and put them on the table before retrieving Arthur's sword belt from the back of the chair.

"Gaius asked me to look for you," Gwen continued, noting but not commenting on the air of relaxed intimacy that permeated the chamber. "He had a message from your mother this morning; she's coming to visit you next week."

"She is?" Merlin's grin stayed in place but Gwen could tell that he was surprised. "For how long, I mean for how many days?"

"I don't know," Gwen replied, looking from one pair of blue eyes to the other. "But it'll be lovely to see her. I got to be so fond of her, during our stay in Ealdor."

"Thank you," said Merlin absently, his hands fiddling with the heavy belt buckle. Gwen could see that he was pleased, but also that he was more than just a little flustered by the news. "There's no sense in writing her, she knows I'll be happy to see her. I'll just ask Gaius if we can move an extra cot into my room."

"Or she can stay with me if you like," Gwen offered, her eyes flickering in the direction of the prince. "That way you can come and go whenever...whenever you're needed, and not disturb her."

"Thank you," Merlin said again, but now it was obvious that his thoughts were elsewhere. Once Gwen had backed out of the room, the door safely closed, he spun around just in time to ram the sword belt, buckle end first, into Arthur's stomach.

"Oof, Merlin, you _idiot_!" came the anticipated roar as he opened his mouth to apologize, but Arthur pushed him against the door and kissed him so deeply and so passionately that Merlin simply dropped the belt onto the floor.

"_Now_," Arthur murmured, a commanding glint in his eye as he scooped up the belt and fastened it around his waist, "Go and get yourself something to eat; I'm off to the training ground."

"I'm not hungry, really," Merlin began but Arthur pulled the door open and gently pushed him through it.

"Shut up Merlin, will you? What you need is breakfast," he snorted, looking his manservant up and down. "Or I swear I will thrash you black and blue. Now go and _eat_, that's an order."

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Because the sun was shining for the first time in days, the elderly court physician was standing on the threshold of his study, enjoying the warmth and morning light when the king of Camelot emerged from the castle and made his way across the courtyard followed by a small escort of armored knights. After abruptly ordering one of the grooms to bring his horse around to the gate immediately, Uther strode across the paving stones to where Gaius was leaning against the arched doorway leading to his workroom.

"Ah Gaius!" Uther called out as he approached. "Before I forget. I'll be needing more of that linament for my knee this evening. Riding makes it stiff."

He winced as he straightened and then bent his right leg, encased in shining metal, and then turned to meet the physician's eye.

"And Gaius...you might speak to that manservant of Arthur's. He's late for his duties again, today. I suppose he's in his bed, asleep, and at this hour! No sense of responsibility, that boy. I have no idea why Arthur doesn't sack him, as I've half a mind to do. You think he has a talent for medicine, I know, but truly! He never seems to know what he's about. Do you suppose he _really_ might have some sort of mental affliction?"

"I...I said I would look into it, sire. But I rather doubt it, I think it's merely the carelessness of the young," Gaius replied, all the while casting a furtive eye around the courtyard. He knew, none better, that Merlin was not in his room, and Gaius had been wondering about his absence--not the first over the past several weeks--since he had arisen at dawn. Initially he had thought nothing of it, but now? Three, four, five nights when his bed had not been slept in? Gaius frowned and looked down at the ground, fervently hoping that some married noblewoman wasn't amusing herself with his young friend.

"He's...he's actually out in the fields, sire. I sent him this morning, to gather some plants I need for medications, including your linament," he added lamely, hoping Uther would not notice his hesitation. "Your pardon, sire, for sending him without asking the prince's permission. My memory isn't what it used to be, I'm afraid. But I'll speak to the lad about his tardiness; that really won't do after all."

"Well, see to it, will you? I have neither the time nor the patience to deal with incompetents," Uther muttered brusquely, wincing again as he attempted to rest his weight evenly on both feet. "You know I have this tourney to attend to, and the banquet afterward."

Gaius leaped at the change of subject.

"Yes, sire, and if I may say so, it's the perfect time of year for a celebration. I suppose there is a reason behind it...the prince's return to full health, I imagine?"

"That's one reason, obviously, but I've another in mind," replied the king, still occupied with his game leg. "The earl of Glastonbury--he's here, as you know, with his son and daughter--was petitioning me yesterday for another land grant, and I was thinking..." His voice trailed off as he shifted his stance, favoring his left leg and sound left knee.

Gaius gave him a few moments. "You were thinking, sire?"

"It was the sight of his daughter, actually, that got me to thinking. I realize that Arthur's young yet, but it's not too early to get him accustomed to the idea of his matrimonial prospects. I've always hoped that he and Morgana, but, well...I've sent heralds to invite ten noble families with eligible daughters to the banquet...it won't do any harm to see what's available for the future king of Albion, will it? Glastonbury's daughter--I've invited her too, pretty little thing. She sat next to Arthur at dinner last night, if you recall."

Gaius recalled her quite well: a voluble, auburn-haired young woman with a bosom of monumental proportions, amply visible above the low neckline of her gown. Every time she leaned in Arthur's direction, the wobbling orbs seemed in danger of exploding from the confines of her bodice. The prince had been scrupulously polite and not stared, but Gaius had seen Merlin rolling his eyes and heard Gwen's stifled giggle as they and the other servants carried food and drink to and from the high table.

"Delightful," was all that Gaius could think of to say.

"But Gaius...I've no one else to tell this to, but I'm a trifle concerned."

_Oh no, now what?_ the physician groaned inwardly, but aloud he said only, "Concerned, sire?"

"I went to Arthur's chamber this morning and spoke with him. He was awake, but the curtains were drawn, and...and...I had the distinct feeling that there was someone else in the room with him."

With an effort Gaius prevented his mouth from falling open. "Erm, someone else, you said?"

"I saw no one, but, well, there was _something_. And he clearly wanted me gone. I don't suppose you'd have any idea...if there's someone...who it might have been?"

"Who, sire?" Gaius' voice rose an octave as a possibility occurred to him that he had not considered before.

"You know I don't really approve of traffic with kitchen wenches and the like, but if it's a girl of good family..."

"Yes?"

"...that's even worse."

"Sire, all I can say is that I've seen no indication that the prince has been keeping company with any lady of my aquaintance," Gaius said breathlessly.

"I hope you're right, my old friend," Uther snapped, bending and straightening his leg again in obvious discomfort. "There have been at least three nights this month past when Arthur retired early and rose late...I only hope it isn't some trollop from the lower town."

"Oh _no_, sire, I'm sure it's nothing of the kind. Nothing of the kind. That is...the crown prince has been recuperating from his injury; I'm sure it's nothing to do with, erm, well, ladies," Gaius found himself babbling as his brain suddenly put two and two together.

"I hope you're right," Uther repeated as he pulled on his gauntlets and turned to leave. "Good _God_...I can only pray it wasn't the earl of Glastonbury's daughter!"

The king wheeled about and headed toward the gate, the waiting horse and attendants at the very moment that Gaius caught a glimpse of Merlin skittering around the corner and dashing at top speed through the door to Gaius' chambers. Uther had not seen him, and Gaius gave a sigh of relief before turning to follow his unruly charge inside, closing the door firmly behind him.

"Merlin!" he said sternly, entering his chamber just in time to see the door to Merlin's little bedchamber slam shut.

"Merlin!" Gaius thundered, at the end of his patience, and a moment later the door cracked open and Merlin's disheveled head appeared around the edge.

"For God's sake Merlin," Gaius essayed in a more subdued tone of voice. "Come in and get your breakfast. All this gallivanting about--you can't tell me it's doing you any good. You've got dark circles under your eyes like a charcoal burner."

He busied himself with bowls of porridge and fruit, pouring water into goblets, and said nothing further until both were seated at the table. Merlin looked at the lump-filled porridge with barely concealed dismay, but he leaned over the bowl and raised the spoon to his lips.

"Eat, Merlin," rumbled Gaius, eyeing the young man's prominent cheekbones with a touch of alarm. "You'll waste away to nothing if you're not careful."

Merlin smiled a little as he scooped up another spoonful.

"Arthur says I need feeding up," he acknowledged with his mouth full.

"Arthur's right," Gaius muttered, avoiding the other's eyes. "You know I promised your mother I'd look after you. You're hardly a child, Merlin, but I feel responsible for your welfare. Missing meals. Out until all hours of the night, sleeping I don't know where...and you notice that I don't ask you where; it's not my business. If you are conducting your amours within the confines of the castle, however, I suggest that you watch your step. You may work for Arthur but the king has every right to have you sacked. According to Uther you were late to Arthur's chamber this morning, and you know how he disapproves of tardiness."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the slight flush that suffused Merlin's hollow cheeks, but he said nothing until both had nearly finished the porridge and were halfway through the bowl of fruit.

"You know, my boy," he said gently, finally meeting Merlin's gaze, "I and others owe you a debt of gratitude that cannot be expressed--at least not openly, not while Uther's king. But you need to be careful, and not just about your use of magic. I ask for no details about your private life, but, well...you know what the king is like when it comes to issues of morality and social class. And while we're on the subject of your, erm, personal affairs, I take it Gwen told you that your mother is coming to visit?"

Merlin nodded, his eyes on Gaius' face.

"While Hunith's here I think it would be best if these...these nocturnal visitations were put on hold. At least for the duration. You know, I think, what I'm saying."

There was no argument from Merlin, so Gaius returned to his breakfast with dwindling enthusiasm (the boy was right, the porridge was far too lumpy) and a great many questions left unanswered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The Problem with Abstinence**

"So!" said Arthur, flexing his biceps experimentally after dropping his rerebraces to the ground.

"So?" Merlin whispered as he picked them up, and then knelt again to unfasten the greaves protecting Arthur's legs.

They were positioned at the edge of the training ground with the sun beating down on them, watching Arthur's knights struggle out of their armor, gasping for breath. Practice was over and Arthur's blond hair was dark with sweat, the padded shirt beneath his chain mail soaked with it. His mouth was set in a straight line, turned slightly down at the corners, and when Merlin looked up he saw that the prince's eyes were stormy, his expression hard.

"This _ridiculous_ banquet!" said Arthur under his breath. "I suppose you've heard? After the tourney? Father's invited a bevy of beauties to entice me into the mood for matrimony."

"That's quite good alliteration, sire," Merlin replied with mock seriousness. "As you see, I've been studying during my off hours."

"Oh for God's sake, Merlin!" Arthur muttered as the greaves came off. "Don't be such an arse. I mean..."

Merlin nodded and tried to look solemn but couldn't contain the laughter that suddenly burst from his lips. Arthur looked down at him with mild annoyance and swatted him across the top of his head, the gesture turning into a caress as his fingers swept through the unruly locks of straight, dark hair.

"So there's this tourney. _And_," he added with a grimace, "He'll demand my constant attendance for that entire week. And there'll be dancing every bloody night, and feasting, for three days after the tournament."

"No hardship there," Merlin said grinning, but the prince refused to smile back.

"No hardship for _you,_ you mean," Arthur snapped moodily. "_You_ don't have to dance with a mob of silly giggling girls, or stuff your face with pudding while they talk about the latest in surcoats and coifs and ermine sleeves and the like."

"Morgana doesn't talk like that, Arthur," Merlin offered in a conciliatory tone of voice. "Gwen doesn't either."

"Oh well, Morgana...she can be all right," Arthur conceded reluctantly. "I suppose. When she feels like it. When she's not being impossible. There's no denying she's a looker. And Gwen's...well, she's very sweet. She's a good girl, is Gwen," he added absently.

Merlin carefully removed Arthur's breastplate and then very gently unfastened the gorget that protected the crown prince's neck, his fingers lightly touching the skin. Arthur's breath quickened a little, and for what seemed like a split second his own fingers brushed against Merlin's.

Merlin lifted the chain mail over his head and Arthur gave a sigh of relief.

"It's only for a few days," Merlin ventured in an encouraging tone. "And then they'll all be gone, and perhaps Uther will go off on a diplomatic visit to someone, and my mum will probably go back to Ealdor."

Arthur tossed his gauntlets onto the grass.

"I suppose your mother will enjoy all the pageantry," he said with what Merlin could tell was false cheer. "Do you know yet how long she'll be stopping in Camelot?"

"At least three or four days I should think," was the reply as Merlin finished making order out of the various bits and pieces of armor. "Yes, she'll enjoy the sights. Not that she'll be present at the banquet of course, but she'll like looking at all the lords and ladies as they pass. I, naturally," he continued with a wry grin, "am used to watching you toffs strolling about, but it should be exciting for her. She'll be pleased to see Gwen and Morgana again. And yourself, sire," he added with grave courtesy as several of the knights wandered past them.

"I imagine she'll want to spend the evenings with you."

"Yes...I imagine so," Merlin said in a subdued voice, looking down at his shoes. "But that's all right...you'll be busy too."

"No help for it," Arthur replied. Then, "_Mer_lin! Why in hell did I wear these bloody spurs? It was all hand to hand practice today."

Arthur stared pointedly at the spurs, which Merlin had completely forgotten to attend to, and then stretched his arms, tightening and then relaxing his shoulder muscles.

"I've got to have a bath," he said abruptly. "There's no reason for you to attend me there today. _In fact it's probably better that you don't_," he added in an undertone, leaning a little towards Merlin's left ear. "_Why should I torment myself with the sight of what I can't have...at least can't have now_."

The possessive tone was back in Arthur's voice and Merlin had to suppress a smile.

"Anyway," he continued seriously, "There are too many people about. Preparations for the festivities and all that. But..." He lowered his voice again. "I was thinking of a quick hunt before dinner; there's no need to take any beaters...just you..."

Merlin understood.

"I'll be in the courtyard," he said quietly. "Whenever you need me." And was rewarded by the smile in Arthur's eyes and the light pressure of Arthur's fingers on his wrist before he strode off in the direction of the castle.

Merlin sighed, gathered up the pieces of armor, mentally tallying how long it would take to clean all of them–using magic–while he attended to his other chores. The armor made an ungainly bundle, but he managed to hoist the lot in both arms. Squinting against the harsh noon light, he turned and then promptly tripped over Arthur's abandoned helmet.

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It was pleasant inside the castle after the nailing heat of the sun out of doors, and the knights and squires who had come in from the practice ground were leaning against the cool stone walls, recovering, when the crown prince appeared at the head of the staircase.

"Arthur," Morgana said, catching up to him as he descended the stairs toward the great hall. "I don't suppose you want to tell me what's wrong?"

Fresh from his bath, damp hair plastered over his forehead, Arthur silently cursed himself for not having taken the back stairs. He was not in the mood for verbal fencing with Morgana. He had heard her earlier, chattering with Guinevere about gowns and jewels for the banquet and dance, and this was hardly a subject he wanted to pursue.

"Wrong?" he asked in the most arrogant tone he could muster, staring down at her–which was not difficult to do as she was now three steps below him. "Why on earth do you think that anything's _wrong_?"

"Well," Morgana said reasonably, ascending the stairs until their eyes were level, "Let's just say that you've looked like a thundercloud all day. If it has anything to do with this absurd tournament–like we really _need_ yet another tournament–and banquet, then I can't say I blame you. And I don't imagine you're looking forward to having Uther shove a collection of eligible maidens down your throat."

These were the last words Arthur had expected to hear from Morgana, and for a moment he almost could have embraced her.

"Gwen and I," Morgana continued blithely, "are looking forward to the dancing–that's the only nice part of the whole event. That is, since we've seen you vanquish about a hundred knights in the past year, the tournament will be nothing new."

Arthur gave her his _what are you trying to tell me?_ look, one eyebrow raised and one corner of his upper lip lifted ever so slightly.

"What we were thinking," she went on without a pause, "is that next week is going to be particularly busy and difficult for you. First the fighting, then all of those candidates."

"Candidates?"

"For the next big job opening up in Camelot," Morgana said patiently. "Consort to Arthur Pendragon. Queen. Wife. You know."

Arthur's eyes rolled upward to stare at the ceiling, but it was very clear to Morgana that he _did_ know.

"If we're going to be quite frank about all this," he drawled, not quite meeting Morgana's eyes, "_You_ know perfectly well that Father's been hoping you and _I_ would step off to the altar some day. Well, you have no need to worry. I wouldn't inflict that on you."

Quite unexpectedly, Morgana laughed.

"Well _thank you_, I suppose I'm meant to take that as a compliment? But you needn't worry either, childhood friend. You may be as good looking as you are insufferable, but nothing could convince me to become Uther Pendragon's daughter in law."

In spite of himself Arthur's lips twitched. "You'd better watch it," he said in what he hoped was an ominous tone. "Before you know it he'll be holding a banquet with candidates for _your_ sorry hand in marriage."

He expected Morgana to hurl something at his head, but she merely grimaced, murmuring, "The thought had occurred to me."

"Next week you'll be needing to get away from time to time," Morgana went on calmly. "You know Uther is going to be impossible. And you can't be running off to hunt everyday. Nearly all the halls and chambers in the castle will be used for the guests and their servants, and there'll be no place to go for a spot of quiet. But there's the little room my old nurse used to have, just down the hall. It's used for storage now, and no one goes in there. I have the key. So if you and your Mer...that is, if you want some peace and privacy to think things over, or just to rest without being disturbed, you may have it."

And with that she took Arthur's hand and dropped a heavy iron key into it.

Arthur stared at her dumbfounded before collecting his wits and clearing his throat.

"Oh for God's sake, Arthur," Morgana snapped, her patience obviously strained by his silence. "Just say thank you and have done with it! This isn't the first time I've saved your sorry ar...I mean, helped you out of an unpleasant situation. A little gratitude and humility wouldn't be out of place. I'll see you at dinner!"

With that parting shot, she walked sedately down the stairs and headed for the main portal, oblivious to the knights and squires who sprang to attention as she passed, trying hard to look as though they had been on sentry duty all along.

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"I can't believe Morgana!" Arthur muttered into the warm curve where Merlin's neck met his shoulder. "Either she's lost her mind or she's becoming human."

Merlin's reply was a sigh that fluttered the fine, short hair on Arthur's nape. When he opened his eyes he could see the darkening blue of the sky through interlacing tree branches above. The prince lay sprawled across him, half asleep, his bow, quiver, and hunting knife discarded a few feet away from them.

They had met in the courtyard in the mid-afternoon, at which time Arthur loudly announced to all and sundry that he was going to try to find a brace of rabbits before the evening meal. On horseback it took less than an hour to reach the small clearing, not far from where Arthur had once shot a unicorn. It was quite secluded; Merlin had discovered it by accident while trying to locate an arrow, lost in the underbrush, without using magic.

"She loses her temper," Arthur added, shifting a little. "At the drop of a hat."

"She doesn't get enough sleep," Merlin replied, yawning. "She has those terrible dreams all the time. Gaius told me. Nightmares."

"Nighmares," groaned Arthur, pressing his face against Merlin's collarbone. "It'll be a nightmare this evening if Father seats me next to that minx from Glastonbury again."

"Ah," Merlin said into Arthur's hair. "Gwen and I noted her. The lovely girl with the...the..."

"Yes," came the sleepy reply. "And wasn't she eager, just. If I'd given any indication of interest she'd have been at my door in less than a minute."

"Conceited git!"

"Idiot!" Merlin felt Arthur's teeth lightly graze his shoulder.

"I know," he said quietly, very quietly because this was important. "That you'll marry someday. That you'll have to. It's all right...I understand that, I always have."

Arthur's finger traced the outline of one of Merlin's ribs and he frowned.

"I won't thrash you today," he mumbled, "Because I haven't the strength for it, now. But I trust you to eat a proper dinner."

Merlin smiled but made no answer. He simply gazed, slightly mesmerized, at the contrast created by the pale golden skin of Arthur's arm against the ivory paleness of his own torso. Once (in an unguarded moment of desire, quite out of character for him) Arthur had told Merlin that he was beautiful, but to Merlin's mind it was the other way around.

"Arthur," he finally said when he sensed that the prince was on the verge of sleep. "It's getting late–we have to start back."

"Bloody hell," Arthur growled as he rolled over and then sat up, reaching for his shirt. Moments later they were untethering their horses from a nearby sapling. As there was no one there to see them, Arthur mounted his without Merlin's assistance, and the two headed back towards the castle at a modest canter.

"I'm beginning to think Morgana's storage room might be more comfortable," Merlin complained as he pulled a twig from the neck of his jacket. "Oh...we forgot about the rabbits."

"Just get those leaves out of your hair, will you?" the crown prince said with brusque affection as they came within sight of the gate. "You don't want anyone to think that you stumbled over your own feet _again_."

"Prat," said Merlin under his breath as they approached the barbican and then passed beneath the portcullis. "You'd think it was entirely my fault that there's dirt all down the back of my shirt."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: **_**Ilias Malorum**_** (A Series of Woes)**

The day before Uther's tournament the weather obliged him by being as perfect a day as anyone in Camelot had ever seen. The sun was brilliant but not too hot; there was barely a cloud in the sky, and a light misting of rain the day before guaranteed that the grass was soft without being soggy and even the air in the outer bailey smelt clean and crisp. Flags and pennants in the Pendragon colors were flying from the battlements and Uther's heralds (in freshly laundered livery) stood atop the towers flanking the barbican, straining their eyes to catch each new arrival of rank. Inside the castle fresh rushes had been strewn on the flagstones–the entire servant population of Camelot having been obligated to sweep up and dispose of the old ones–wooden tables and chests had been polished with beeswax, tapestries had been taken down from walls and cleaned (and checked for moths). Everyone, the servants in particular, was exhausted. The cooks and their enormous staff were still turning out roasts, pasties, and sweetmeats for the pleasure of guests and hosts, Gaius (with an eye to the indigestion that would doubtless follow) was checking on his stores of powdered gentian and imported ginger, and Gwen was putting the final touches to the Lady Morgana's new gown.

There were the usual minor accidents. The canopied stands, from which the competition would be viewed, had collapsed and had to be rebuilt, the castle steward moaning the entire time about the corruption that was said to be rife in the Carpenters' Guild. In the haste of preparing various salves, ointments, and infusions (for the tourney participants), Gaius set fire to his bench several times. The cooks had to work through the night, and there were complaints from several in the castle–most notably the Lady Morgana–that the smell of roasting boar, deer, and capons was preventing them from falling asleep. The following night as the carpenters, hammering and sawing from midnight to dawn, finally managed to complete their work, a scullery lad scrubbing the hall floors reported that he had been stumbled over by the prince's manservant, on his way downstairs to complain about the unholy din that was keeping the prince awake.

"God, Merlin, that was a cropper, even for you," the crown prince had said, gazing at the bruise that was beginning to blossom on his servant's brow as the result of this encounter.

In spite of these mishaps and the general fatigue of all concerned, the morning before the main event was so splendid that spirits rose and all rancor and disagreements were put aside. When King Uther looked out of his window at the courtyard below, he could see guests and revelers beginning to trickle in through the gateway from the inner bailey and he noted with satisfaction that grooms were ready and waiting to assist the visiting noble families with their luggage and show them to the chambers allotted to them for the duration of their stay. He caught a flash of his son's scarlet cloak as the prince crossed the courtyard with Geoffrey of Monmouth, with whom he had probably been discussing heraldry. Morgana's pretty maidservant Gwen was navigating the crowds in the other direction (Uther always felt the slightest twinge of guilt when he saw the girl whose father he had ordered killed), a parcel of brightly colored cloth in her arms. Morgana herself was not in evidence; she was, the king surmised, in all likelihood busying herself with garments and jewelry in her room.

From the top of the steps to the castle doorway, Merlin looked out over the bustling throng below. He had received his mother's message from a wayside inn only the night before; she was traveling with two other villagers from Ealdor and would be in Camelot before mid-morning. Thinking about this, Merlin was surprised to see Hunith entering the courtyard with her friends, each carrying a small bundle of belongings and staring around in awe at the sights around them. It was still well before mid-morning, but it seemed that they had made good time. Merlin descended the stairs and made his way across the increasingly crowded space.

"My dearest boy," Hunith said as she put her arms around her son's neck and pressed her lips against the middle of his cheek. He hugged back, nearly lifting her off the ground, and reached out to take her bundle from her. She surrendered her belongings, smiling with relief and pleasure, and then stood back from him a little to admire her finest handiwork.

Merlin was neatly clad in a dark crimson tunic and fine leather shoes (Uther had insisted that he improve his appearance for the festivities) and although he looked thinner and a touch more frail than when she had seen him last, there were other discernible differences that impressed Hunith almost instantly. He had left Ealdor a boy, but now...? Those were a man's eyes looking back at her, steady and direct. The sweet, boyish grin he flashed at her was the same as always, but the calm, almost contemplative expression that replaced it almost immediately...had she ever seen it before? Never classically handsome, he had always been possessed of an odd, understated beauty, a peculiar charm, and an element of grace–when he wasn't falling over a tree root or knocking over a candle with those elbows. The candid blue eyes, in combination with his dark hair and milky complexion, had always drawn the attention of the local girls. The strange beauty was still there, and the charm, but something was different.

As Merlin led Hunith and her friends–a married couple from Ealdor–towards the castle outbuildings, Hunith glanced about to see if Gwen or the Lady Morgana were anywhere in the vicinity. She did not see them, but there was an impressive array of noblemen and women in the courtyard, elegantly dressed and coifed, well-tended greyhounds at their heels, or falcons on their wrists. And how immense the castle was! Hunith, remembering her one previous visit, was glad that she would be staying in Merlin's little room, adjacent to Gaius' study; if she had been housed in the castle she surely would have gotten lost. Although Gwen had offered her a bed in her little house, it had been decided that the couple from Ealdor, Hawisa and Alf, should stay there, while Hunith would make do with a cot loaned by Gaius. Dear Gaius! The only person beside herself who knew Merlin's secret.

A group of gorgeously attired ladies walked past in a waft of perfume and Hunith saw her son turn his head just a little as they went by. It was then that Hunith was prompted to wonder whether Merlin might be in love.

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By late afternoon the ten noble families and their nubile daughters, not to mention all of the knights scheduled to fight in the tournament, had arrived, been welcomed heartily by Uther, and shown to their rooms. The evening meal that night was elaborate, although not as sumptuous as the banquet of the following day would be. After the noble visitors had been formally introduced to the crown prince and the Lady Morgana, musicians played while platters of food were carried to and from the kitchens by a large contingent of servants, as others stood behind the diners' chairs to anticipate their needs. Merlin was one of these, and so as not to annoy the king he had made an effort to smooth down his hair and make certain that his garments were well-brushed before he joined members of the household staff waiting behind the high table. He had left his mother comfortably settled in his little room; she would take her meal with Gaius, who had pleaded gout and fatigue as reasons for not attending Uther's dinner. Now and then, when he stepped forward politely to pour wine for the guests, his eyes met Gwen's as she delivered dishes and bowls heaped with steaming delicacies. They were both trying very hard not to laugh as one elaborately-dressed demoiselle after another took turns parading her charms before Arthur–insofar as it was possible to do so while seated at the table. The prince, resplendent in royal purple and black, his hair an aureole of pale gold in the candlelight, said little but avoided a third pass of the wine ewer, claiming the need to stay sober for the events of the following day.

Conversation at the high table was rather subdued and the meal ended early as tourney participants drifted off to their rooms in anticipation of a good night's sleep before a long day of competitive swordplay. Morgana and Gwen disappeared even earlier, Gwen having whispered to Merlin that both were planning to pay a quick visit to Hunith before retiring. Servants left their posts behind the tables and went to stand at attention by the door. Arthur, with whom Merlin had barely exchanged more than a few words that morning, rose from his seat at the center of the high table, spoke courteously to the guests, and then headed for the door, exchanging hearty good nights with various acquaintances as he went.

As Arthur passed Merlin he reached out and clapped him companionably on the shoulder.

"_Mine!_" he whispered, his fingers digging in just a little before he withdrew his hand and disappeared with several of his knights tagging along behind him.

Merlin smiled, and then stopped smiling as he caught the sharp look Uther shot in his direction. Stifling a yawn, he waited patiently until the guests had left before hastening to Arthur's chamber with clean towels and hot water. As he had expected, the corridors were filled with guests and attendants milling around, and the first words he heard as he stepped into the room were "Father's coming to see me," uttered in tones of weary exasperation. Therefore, after depositing his burdens, gathering up Arthur's discarded garments, and wishing the prince a heartfelt good night, he made his exit. Only briefly, before closing the door, was he able to exchange a sardonic look with Arthur as crowds of visitors filed noisily past, in search of their own chambers or en route to the great hall for a final goblet of mulled wine before bed.

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In the warmth and comfort of his own little room, Hunith was perched on the edge of her borrowed cot chatting with Gwen and Morgana when Merlin entered, yawning mightily and stretching his arms like a prisoner just released from his chains. Gwen stood up and gave him a brilliant smile, and Morgana, looking more cheerful than Merlin had seen her in many weeks, raised her eyebrows at him as he leaned against the wall and surveyed the scene with a kind of bleary content.

"This is the first time my bedroom's ever been invaded by women,"he said, and then blushed. It was true that the little chamber looked quite different with his mother seated at one end and Morgana and Gwen, with their full-skirted dresses, taking up the rest of the space. Morgana's gown, a dark blue silk, reminded Merlin of the night sky, and her beauty in such a humble setting was so striking that he had to remind himself to lower his eyes and not gawp like a peasant. Now she rose to her feet and moved towards the door, joined by Gwen, after taking Hunith's hand and pressing it with her own.

"It has been an honor to see both of you again," Hunith said earnestly, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "I and my friends have never forgotten how you came with Prince Arthur to save our village."

Once the two young women had gone she turned to her son, who had collapsed onto his own bed, rubbing his eyes and groaning with fatigue.

"I suppose it's been a long day for you," she said fondly. "How was the king's supper? Have you...are you certain you've had enough to eat?"

Merlin was not going to invite any comments about his eating habits, not now, so he merely nodded his head.

At this point, Gaius put his own head through the door to inform them that it was getting late and both of them would need to get their sleep if they were expecting to attend all of the next day's events.

"You must be exhausted from your journey, Hunith, and you, Merlin...if you're late to dress Arthur for the tournament tomorrow there's no telling what the king will do."

Merlin offered an affirmative mumble, his eyes closed, but his mother thanked Gaius for his reminder, and for keeping a watchful eye on her son.

"How lovely to see Gwen and the Lady Morgana again," Hunith continued, and then, without any preamble–"They've been so good to us...I trust that you always treat them with the utmost respect, Merlin."

Merlin recognized this for what it was, an attempt to find out what his feelings for Gwen, or Morgana, or any lady of the court might be.

"Naturally," he replied, kicking off his shoes and bunching the pillow behind his neck. "I wouldn't dream of doing anything else. They've been my friends–but I've never taken liberties with the friendship of anyone here."

Gaius sent a look of vague alarm in his direction before ducking back into his workroom.

Going over what he had said to his mother, long after she had fallen asleep, Merlin realized that it was quite true. He had taken no liberties with his friendships–not really–and he had affection of a sort for both Gwen and Morgana. He found both of them attractive...he had always responded to Gwen's pretty face and warmhearted nature, while Morgana's porcelain loveliness in particular had stirred him in the past. But he was in love with Arthur; Arthur drew him like a moth to a flame, and this had little to do with his masculine beauty...or with his gender at all, for that matter. It was the combination of self-confidence and vulnerability, of arrogance and truthfulness, of military prowess and emotional hesitancy that had first tugged at his feelings. Then there was the motherless child wrapped in a warrior's body, the impulsive urge to act before thinking (something Merlin was gently trying to change, or at least modify), the unexpected sweetness he sometimes displayed when the two of them were alone together. Of course Arthur's looks were icing on the cake, and Merlin genuinely admired his neatly chiseled features, his athletic build, his fair coloring, those very full pink lips, the lower of which always slightly chapped...

Now, Merlin told himself, was not the time to be thinking about such things. Far better to get some rest before the ordered chaos of tomorrow's tournament. He would see to it that his mother and her friends had a decent vantage point from which to view the fighting (they would not be allowed in the stands with the nobility and there was no point in even trying to sneak them in). He himself would be on duty, and between the competitions and the evening's banquet there probably would be very little time to spend with Arthur at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Two Kinds of Competition**

"Oh Merlin, how splendid!" Hunith said when she was shown to her place at the barrier that stood between spectators and the small, circular field to be used by the tourney participants. It was standing room only in this viewing area, as the raised stands with their brightly colored canopies were reserved for members of the nobility and the royal household. Gaius was usually seated in the stands, not far from the king, but on this occasion he had descended among the common folk and was leaning on the barrier next to Hunith and her friends. The atmosphere was festive; the weather had once again obliged the king with a brilliant, cloudless sky and only the faintest of breezes.

Having found his mother a spot where she would have a clear view of the field, Merlin raced back to the tents behind the stands, where the contestants were preparing for battle. Looking back, he could see Hunith speaking to Gaius, her hand on his arm, and (given the conversation of the previous night) he was fairly certain that she was quizzing the physician about her son's love life.

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In the largest of the tents, lit by an array of candles, Arthur was in the process of pulling his chain mail over his head.

"I'll do that, sire," Merlin said at the top of his voice for the benefit of the guard outside, before letting the tent flap fall closed.

"Late again," Arthur replied with his eyebrows raised, but he was smiling.

Merlin straightened the heavy chain mail across the prince's shoulders and then sorted through the shining metal plate armor laid out on a clean cloth. Months of diligent practice had paid off, and he could now dress Arthur in the entire panoply of defensive garments, in the proper order and without missing a beat. Once everything was in place he reached for the prince's scarlet cloak and slung it around his shoulders, struggling to fasten the ties at the neck into a tidy bow.

He was not quite finished when Arthur seized him by the front of his shirt and pulled him close until they were nearly forehead to forehead.

"Arthur." The tent flap was pushed aside and the king stood in the opening, blinking his eyes a little as they adjusted to the dimness within.

Arthur lowered and then raised one eyelid surreptitiously, after which the hand that had pulled Merlin to him gave him a shove–gentle, yet seemingly vigorous–to one side.

"My God, Merlin, I swear I've never had a clumsier servant," he snapped, his lips set in a convincing scowl. Uther glanced at Merlin's garb–he had returned to his everyday clothing for the tournament–with what appeared to be a mixture of distaste and vexation..

"Why you put up with that boy..." he muttered as he turned to examine his son's shield, one hand rubbing the close-shaved stubble on his chin, the other clutching a scrap of pale green and white fabric.

Behind Uther's back Arthur sent Merlin the closest thing he had ever seen to an apologetic glance before turning his attention to the king. Still mumbling something about _mental affliction_ and _incompetent idiot_, Uther abandoned his scrutiny of the shield, cleared his throat noisily, and proceeded to shove the strip of silk into Arthur's hand.

"Ahem! Arthur! The king of Rheged's daughter has asked if you would do her the honor of wearing her colors during the tournament."

Arthur looked at the green and white silk in surprise before his eyes narrowed and the corner of his upper lip curled in the expression of derision and disbelief that Merlin knew so well.

"You mean _the king_ of Rheged has asked if I would do her the honor of wearing this thing," he said dryly.

"It doesn't matter who asked," Uther answered curtly. "I believe you should wear it and there's an end on it."

Arthur rolled his eyes behind Uther's back, but his response of "Very well, Father," was delivered in a politely neutral tone. As the king watched he handed the strip of fabric to Merlin, who tied it neatly around his left wrist.

"I trust you'll make me proud," Uther said as he always did before any event in which his son participated. Merlin held the heavy tent flap open for him as he left and although the king looked at him rather askance, it was clear that he had not seen anything out of the ordinary when he had first entered the candle-lit space.

"Ready," Arthur said somewhat tersely, although his face was composed. Merlin knew better than to ask him if he was nervous (he had once done so, and had received an angry "_Will you shut up!_" for his pains), so he offered a half smile as he gestured in the direction of the princess of Rheged's scarf.

"Isn't it a little early to play favorites?"

"Ha!" replied Arthur absently as he reached for his sword. Merlin handed it to him. For a moment they stood motionless, and then Merlin lifted the tent flap; their hands touched briefly, and then Arthur was gone.

Dashing back to the tourney field, and the commoners' place behind the wooden barrier, Merlin allowed himself a quick look at the stands where Uther, Morgana (with Gwen in attendance at her side), and an assortment of courtiers and guests were seated. Morgana and Gwen smiled at him as he sped past. The king of Rheged, a corpulent fellow clad in a startling shade of green, was sitting at Uther's right hand, his daughter, a damsel whose fair hair was nearly as blond as Arthur's, lounging beside him.

"There you are!" Hunith said comfortably as Merlin took his place beside her, panting. "You don't want to miss the first pair!"

"They've drawn lots; I don't know who's matched with whom," her son gasped, trying to catch his breath. "I can't stay; I have to get back to Arthur after each of his rounds."

"Of course," Hunith responded, and there was pride in her voice as she continued, "It's obvious that he quite relies on you."

Suddenly conscious of the peculiar gaze Gaius was leveling in his direction, Merlin flushed but merely said, "Well, erm...it's...it's been an honor to work for him."

Once the knights had begun to face off, one pair at a time, it was not easy to discuss the events over the din of shouting spectators and clanging metal. Hunith was horrified to see that the weapons were real, not blunted, and Merlin explained that although a less dangerous form of the tournament, known as a _béhourd_, involved dull blades and even padded jackets instead of armor, Uther–and many others–preferred a straightforward fight. He himself watched the proceedings with no small degree of concern, for some of the competitors were extremely skilled. Arthur won his first match with ease; Merlin ran back to his tent to attend him before his next one, which came less than a half hour later. His third match was the most difficult to watch, as his opponent was both large and quick on his feet, and also older and probably more experienced. Merlin gripped the wooden barrier with white-knuckled hands and felt cold sweat running down his face; he was dimly aware that his lower lip remained caught between his teeth until the moment that the prince deflected his opponent's final blow before knocking him to the ground with the flat of his sword.

A shout of approval went up from the crowd as Arthur removed his helmet–his own face and hair were wet with sweat–and raised one hand above his head. Merlin relaxed his viselike grasp on the barrier, wiped his streaming brow and turned to find both his mother and Gaius staring at him with consternation.

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Because of the tourney Arthur took his midday meal rather late, in the privacy of his own room. Pouring out a goblet of wine generously mixed with water–it would not do to have one's reflexes impaired in any way during a fight–Merlin decided it was safe to compliment him on his victory.

"You're an idiot, Merlin," Arthur said cheerfully before downing the contents of the goblet. "You know I'll have at least one match this afternoon. More to drink, please."

He was eating sparingly–it also would not do to fight on a very full stomach–but with a good appetite. As Merlin returned with the wine flagon, Arthur deposited a generous portion of his meal onto a second plate and shoved it in across the table.

"Now eat that lot, you," he said severely. "Don't make me lose my temper."

Merlin opened his mouth to protest but the prince stopped him with a look.

Merlin sighed. There were, not surprisingly, moments when Arthur could still be remarkably pratlike, and lately these seemed to occur when the prince was berating him about the need to increase his food intake.

"At least I've never prepared a_ rat stew_ especially for you," he had once remarked as Merlin, trying to choke down a very large capon pasty, insisted that this was way more than he could possibly ingest in one sitting.

"Gaius says the Romans used to eat dormice," Merlin had responded in self defense.

"The Romans! And what would _you_ know about the Romans?" came the snooty reply.

"I had an ancestor named Ambrosius," Merlin said modestly, looking at the floor and wishing he could conjure up a Roman great-great grandfather, armor and all, just to spite the crown prince.

Arthur had let out a snort of disbelief but did not pursue the subject, returning Merlin's attention to the massive portion of pasty sitting on his plate and telling him to please just _shut up_ and eat it.

That verbal exchange had taken place less than a week ago, and Arthur was still casting a critical eye over his very slim form and the dark shadows above his cheekbones.

"Merlin, I'm serious," he murmured and Merlin obediently began shoveling pieces of bread and syrup-basted quail into his mouth.

Since first arriving at Camelot he had become accustomed to following the crown prince's orders. As much as their relationship had grown and altered, this was still habit and Merlin did little–at least openly–to change it. He would, he often told himself, make Arthur king, but in the meantime he was still his servant and under obligation to him in many respects. The fact that he had saved the prince's life on quite a few occasions, coupled with Arthur's recent awareness of his magical abilities, leveled the playing field to a slight degree but in their personal interaction Arthur still took the upper hand–it was his nature–and Merlin still followed his lead. It was not as if he never spoke up for himself, for he had always spoken his mind with Arthur and, from the very beginning, had refused to be completely intimidated by him. But even now Arthur couldn't resist the temptation to bully him from time to time–affectionately of course–and Merlin found that it didn't really bother him, although he was far more likely to push back than he had been in his early days at court.

"This is more than enough, I can't eat another bite," he finally said with his mouth full, challenging the prince to contradict him. And indeed his stomach–flat as a board to the eye–felt on the verge of bursting.

Arthur leaned back in his chair and grinned.

"Very well," he said, looking Merlin up and down for a second time. "Just remember that Gwen's going to bring you extra pudding from the banquet this evening."

Merlin groaned.

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The banquet was lavish. Boar, roasted swans, fish in aspic (Arthur wrinkled his nose at the sight), pigeon pie, and a countless number of accompanying dishes, sauces, and confections loaded the high table. Even personal attendants of the visiting nobles had been pressed into service for this event, and as Merlin hurried back and forth from the kitchens to the dining hall he rubbed elbows with strangers clad in the livery of their respective lords. The maidservants of the visiting noblewomen had been permitted to attend their mistresses at the feast, and on more than one occasion Merlin caught Arthur's disapproving stare as one or another of these young women attempted to make conversation with the prince's manservant.

Arthur had won his final round of swordplay in the afternoon, and had been–as usual–named tournament champion. He was pleased, and swaggered a little on his return from the field, but Merlin had given him credit for not being overly smug (as he sometimes was) about the outcome of his matches. Now, seated next to the king of Rheged, he was making up for his modest midday meal by devouring what looked to be vast quantities of food while making conversation with the guests around him. Two seats away, Uther was arguing issues of land management with the earl of Glastonbury, whose buxom daughter was glaring daggers at the princess of Rheged.

"Good lord," Gwen said to Merlin as they passed each other in the hallway. "I can't imagine any of _those_ ladies as queen of Camelot, can you?"

"No, I can't," he replied honestly, saving himself at the last moment from falling over one of the visitors' hunting hounds, curled up in the middle of the passage.

"Well it's plain to see that the prince can't either," Gwen added as she steadied Merlin with a hand on his arm. "From what I can see it would take a_ sorcerer_ to get Arthur interested in _any_ of them."

This comment left Merlin at a loss for words, but fortunately a parade of servants carrying empty platters and bowls emerged from the dining hall and Gwen was literally swept away in their midst.

The banquet was followed by dancing in the great hall, where scores of candles and torches in sconces brightened the vast space. The crown prince dutifully danced with all of the visiting ladies–the candidates, as Morgana persisted in referring to them–and spoke with their fathers while Uther watched. The castle servants, Merlin and Gwen among them, peered through the door as the richly attired nobles paced, wheeled, and bowed in the dance, the gems on the ladies' kirtles and in their hair catching the light.

"I think Morgana's the prettiest," Gwen whispered to Merlin and he could only agree with her.

As there were two more nights of feasting to come, and the tourney participants were patently exhausted, the dancing came to an end before midnight. As feasters and dancers staggered off to bed and red-eyed servants began to clear the tables and sweep away scraps, Merlin fetched towels and hot water and carried them to Arthur's chamber. He was expecting little more than a sleepy good night from the prince, but as he was about to leave Arthur stopped him.

For someone who had triumphed at a tournament and then spent the evening as the center of attention from visitors and castle folk alike, Arthur was looking particularly pensive. This was not, Merlin knew, an expression that he wore very often, except when he was very tired, or confused, or at odds with his father over some ethical or political decision to be made "for the good of Camelot." Now Arthur looked up and down the hallway, making certain that no one was within view. Satisfied, he turned his face toward Merlin, a look of drowsy anticipation in his half-closed eyes.

In their handful of intimate encounters–certainly in matters of lovemaking, or even mere kisses and caresses–Merlin rarely took the initiative, leaving it to Arthur to make the first move as Arthur did in so many other aspects of their life. This was due as much to his own relative lack of experience as to his consciousness of the social gulf that lay between them. It was easier to wait for Arthur to approach _him_. On this occasion, however, Merlin could tell an invitation when he saw one, so (after glancing along the hallway as Arthur had done) he leaned forward and pressed their lips together until he realized that lack of air was making him feel dizzy.

A group of revelers–very much the worse for drink–staggered past them down the corridor, and Arthur, yawning, uttered a loud "Good night, then!" in Merlin's direction as he began to close his door. Before it was quite closed, he said quietly "Tomorrow noon," and put out his hand, dropping something cold and heavy into Merlin's.

It was the iron key to Morgana's storage chamber.

Hurrying back to his own room, a sputtering torch in one hand and the key in the other, Merlin could only pray that neither Gaius nor his mother would be lying in wait to pounce on him with questions about his personal life when he got there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Interlude**

Breakfast with Gaius was a simple affair: porridge (lumpy or otherwise), cut up fruit (depending on the season), and either well water or watered wine. Merlin perched on a stool to eat his, having given up his chair to his mother. Hunith and Gaius were already at the table when he emerged from his room, dressed in his dark red tunic–having no desire to face Uther's displeasure again–with his face freshly washed, his hair dripping wet.

"Goodness, Merlin!" Hunith exclaimed at the sight of him. " Did you stick your head in the washbasin?"

"Yes," her son replied, scrubbing absently at his nape with what appeared to be Gaius' dishcloth. "Gaius, you wouldn't happen to have seen my neckscarf anywhere, would you?"

Gaius' eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline and he gestured in Merlin's general direction.

"It's in your pocket, my boy," he said witheringly. "There are moments when I think you'd misplace your head if it weren't attached to your shoulders."

"To my neck, you mean," Merlin replied through a mouthful of porridge. He drew the red cloth square from his pocket, shook it out, and eyed the wrinkles with chagrin.

"Well if you want to keep it there," Gaius went on in the same tone of voice, rapping his knuckles on the head in question, "You'd best eat quickly and go. The prince must be awake by this time, the sun's nearly risen."

Hunith's face registered disappointment. "You have to rush off this morning as well?"

"The king has two more nights of banqueting," Merlin replied, yawning. "Arthur will be keeping me busy. Tomorrow morning I should have some time to take you around the lower town, if you'd like to see it. There are some shops...and things like that. But today I shouldn't be able to leave the castle."

"I understand," Hunith said, reaching for bread. "And I'm pleased the prince has taken such a liking to you; I saw as much when he came to Ealdor. Even if he doesn't know about, well, your _gift._ Of course he's not like his father, and someday I think you_ will_ be able to tell him_._"

Merlin scanned his mother's face but saw nothing beyond her genuine pride in him. It was obvious now that despite the curious look she had given him at the tournament the day before, she preferred not to wonder about her son's closeness to the crown prince. For her own peace of mind (whatever she might suspect, subconsciously) she had chosen to see nothing beyond the good-natured, boyish cameraderie of which most courtiers and servants in Camelot were aware. As for his gift, only Gaius knew that Arthur had been made aware of his magic.

"That handsome boy," Hunith continued, "Although I shouldn't call him a boy, not anymore. It's clear that King Uther has high hopes for him. All of those lovely girls invited to the banquet! Did you see them, Merlin? Has the prince shown any preference for one of them?"

Merlin turned wide, innocent eyes toward his mother's face.

"I don't think so," he murmured.

"It's made me very happy to see how well you've settled in here," Hunith went on. "I don't suppose there's a young lady anywhere in Camelot who takes your fancy?"

Gaius gave Merlin a shrewd look that he read as "I know your secret, Merlin, yours and Arthur's, but I've not said anything to your mother about it."

"You needn't worry just now," he responded as his mother dipped into Gaius' quince preserves. "It's been busy here, no time for courting the ladies. More opportunity for that in future, I suppose."

Gaius cast a worried glance out of the window, gauging the height of the sun above the horizon. Then, in a voice of exasperated affection: "You'd better get a move on, Merlin, if you're to take Arthur his breakfast and get him dressed. And by the way, the king has ordered that all castle servants wear their official livery today--he needs to keep the visiting nobles as impressed with his household as they are with his son. And...that means the _entire_ uniform, Merlin."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Arthur," said Merlin. "I am not wearing the hat."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"You haven't had to wear it in ages. Just try it on again." Arthur waved the plumed hat in Merlin's face before setting it on top of his head. Merlin stood still for a moment, suffering the indignity as the feathers curled around his nose and got into his eyes.

Arthur took one look and doubled over in a paroxysm of laughter.

Merlin pulled off the hat and thrust it into Arthur's hands.

"Oh, it's not so bad," Arthur murmured, wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes and then depositing the hat on his own head. The effect, Merlin had to admit, was somewhat different.

"Now you're just showing off."

"At least it's lighter than a chain mail hood"

Merlin's shoulders sagged. "If you insist..."

Relenting, Arthur threw the hat across the room where it landed on the breakfast dishes.

"Never mind," he said with a straight face. "I'll tell Father one of the dogs ate it."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Less than two hours later Merlin caught a glimpse of Morgana and Guinevere as they strolled past Uther's audience chamber. He himself was at the other end of the hallway, having delivered one of Gaius' most recent attempts at a sleeping draught to Morgana's room. The room had been empty, and Merlin had deposited the little bottle on the bedside table, remembering to collect the empty vial from yesterday's dose. As he took the same route past the audience hall, hoping to finish his morning duties well before noon, a hand shot out of a partly opened doorway and Gwen dragged him inside.

He was in a small antechamber and at one end of the room Morgana was standing with her face against the wooden door that separated it from the audience hall. As Merlin entered she turned with one finger on her lips, and beckoned. Gwen took him by the arm and nearly dragged him across the room to the door, on the other side of which he could hear voices, and then the sound of a piece of furniture being pushed across the floor.

"Gwen," Merlin whispered as both young women turned to him, making frantic shushing gestures. "_What _are you two on about?"

"We don't make a habit of eavesdropping," Morgana whispered back, her lips twisting wryly. "But we were passing by and...well...overheard something we thought might be important to...to all of us. That is, we're all accustomed to Uther trying to plan out our lives, regardless of what we might want or need. So...well...here we are."

When Merlin raised his shoulders questioningly, she pointed impatiently to the door.

"We've known about this for ages; no one's ever bothered to have it repaired."

There was a crack in the old, warped wood of the paneling, and through it Merlin could see slivers of Uther and Arther as they paced the room, passing and repassing the antechamber door. Uther had pulled a stool up to the throne, and as Merlin watched he sat down heavily, resting one leg on the stool with a loud sigh.

"I don't feel very comfortable doing this," Merlin began, but both girls shot him such murderous glances that he decided now was not the time to discuss issues of ethics and privacy with either of them.

"As I was saying," Uther rapped out, frowning down at his offending leg, "I've had requests from several kings–on their sons' behalf, naturally–for Morgana's hand in marriage. They all want an alliance with our family, and Morgana may not be blood kin but she's my ward. As for you, there are a number of suitable prospects. Yes, I know you're young, but there's no telling...what I meant to say is it's best to beget an heir at an early age. Not _now_, of course, not right away, but it would be prudent to consider your options."

"I take that to mean you're not favoring the princess of Rheged," drawled Arthur. He was out of the range of vision, but Merlin could just picture him rolling his eyes as he spoke.

"No, quite frankly I'm not," Uther replied without a trace of humor. "And I take it you're not favoring her either. You may as well tell me, though, if one of these ladies appeals to you. It's been a long time since we had such a parade of pulchritude in this place. So speak up, there's no sense in prevaricating."

"I need a dictionary," whispered Merlin, but it was plain that neither of the girls found this the least bit funny.

"If I understand you correctly," Arthur said quietly, "You want me to marry soon."

"And have you any objection?"

"I see no point to it," Arthur replied. He came into view as he said this, and Merlin could see his crimson jacket, the gold circlet on his head. "At this stage in my life there are other priorities...I'm establishing myself as a fighter as everybody knows, but there's statecraft, and politics...it would make more sense to become acquainted with other rulers and their kingdoms before making any decisions about whose daughter to marry."

Uther was frowning but he did not look particularly displeased.

"Perhaps you're right," he said at last. "There's something in what you say about becoming better acquainted with our neighbors after all. Just don't put things off for too long, eh? You'll want to live to see your son grow to manhood."

"And supposing he has a daughter?" Morgana hissed acidly.

Uther stood up and thumped his son on the shoulder.

"Well it was a successful tourney in any event," he said in a more cheerful tone of voice. "We should make this an annual event. Next year we might have a joust instead of all this hand-to-hand fighting. You'll need a second destrier of course, and there's room in the stables. In fact, you can have the stall next to the Arabian stallion, it's empty. Just have thingummy...what's his name...Merlin...muck it out tomorrow and we can send for the horse traders next week."

Merlin groaned almost inaudibly.

"Very well, Father," came Arthur's level voice as he moved out of sight once again. "Now, if you'll excuse me...there are some things I need to attend to before tonight's banquet."

"Certainly. Off you go," Uther replied, his voice also level. "I'll expect you in the Great Hall beforehand."

As Arthur's footsteps faded away, Merlin drew back from the door and turned to face Morgana with a little shrug.

"At least he didn't insist that_ YOU_ marry immediately."

"Well," Gwen whispered as the three moved further away from the door, "I'm glad the king has no say over who_ I_ marry. But I was pleased to see Arthur stand up to him a little. It isn't easy to tell Uther that you disagree with anything he has planned for you."

"I don't think Uther's as disappointed as all that," Morgana whispered. "None of those girls really lived up to his standards for a future queen."

Gwen made a face. "We simply _had_ to know whether Uther was going to saddle Arthur...and us...and Camelot with one of those simpering females from the banquet."

"I don't suppose that you two ever simper," Merlin whispered back, for lack of anything else to say.

"No," Morgana said shortly. "We don't. And we should hope that Arthur...when the time comes and he has no choice but to marry...chooses someone who doesn't either."

"And let's hope," she added, glancing at Merlin and then looking down, "That she'll be an enlightened, compassionate sort of girl who's understanding about sharing her husband with...with...the rest of the kingdom."

Fortunately for Merlin–who at this point did not know where to look–Gwen came to his rescue, giving him a gentle nudge. "You needn't stay...Morgana and I are just going to go back to the Great Hall."

Merlin mouthed a silent goodbye and slipped out of the room, keeping to the shadows so as not to alert Uther's guards and feeling slightly battered by what Morgana had just said to him. As he descended the stairs he glanced through a window to check the time–he might have just enough to get back to his room, change out of the confounded crimson uniform, and borrow a few necessary items before meeting Arthur at the appointed place.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Merlin was wearing the dark blue shirt with laces tied at the throat. It was a color that suited him, setting off the cream of his skin and deepening the blue of his eyes. Arthur untied the laces and drew the shirt over his head.

The storage room that had once been bedchamber to Morgana's nurse was narrow, with a tiny recessed window that was really little more than an arrow slit in the thickness of the wall so that the interior was somewhat dark. There was barely space within which to maneuver, as bits and pieces of discarded furniture, wooden chests of old clothes, and various other odds and ends seemed to be everywhere. Piled against one wall were several rolled-up tapestries and lengths of sackcloth that had been folded and stacked. The stuffed head of a stag lay abandoned in one corner, staring mournfully at the vaulted ceiling with dusty glass eyes. Perched on top of a pile of boxes was an enormous engraved silver chalice that had been given to Morgana's father by a neighboring count when she was born. There was dust everywhere, making them sneeze at the most inopportune moments.

Merlin traced the elegant line of Arthur's jaw with his fingers before taking a step back to look at him, dropping the borrowed blankets he had remembered to bring at the last moment. The large, heavy candle he had nicked from the castle chapel burned with a steady light. It cast a golden glow over Arthur's clear-cut profile, and Merlin was unaware that it warmed his own pale skin to amber and lent an element of mystery to his angular, coltish beauty.

Although it was fine weather outside, and sunny, the stone walls retained the chill of the early morning, and the room was cold. But Arthur was warm, his skin, his hands, were warm, and Merlin closed his eyes, surrendering himself as he always did in Arthur's arms, every nerve in his body alive to Arthur's touch, sensation taking the place of sight in the candle-lit dimness.

It was just as well that he opened them again a while later. At a critical moment in their proceedings the silver chalice, jostled by their movements, toppled over and would have fallen to the stone floor with a tremendous crash, had Merlin not managed to halt it in midair. A pile of coarse sackcloth slid by itself across the room and settled beneath the chalice, which then fell with a muted thump. Merlin saw Arthur's eyes widen at the sight, before he squeezed them shut and gasped, tightening his embrace until Merlin thought his bones would crack.

When the small, cluttered chamber came back into focus Merlin realized, vaguely, that Arthur was still holding him tightly, and that the candle had burned down halfway.

"Are you all right, Merlin?" Arthur whispered, finally relaxing his grip.

"Yes sire," Merlin replied automatically, and felt Arthur smile against his shoulder.

He winced a little as he tentatively stretched his limbs. He did, in fact, feel a blissful euphoria, but also a bit like someone just released from a whirlwind. When it came to love, Arthur put all of his energy into what he was doing, just as he did with every physical activity. There had been times when Merlin was reminded–by analogy–of Arthur charging full tilt (lance at the ready) during the joust.

Arthur rolled over onto his side and then raised himself on one elbow, inspecting Merlin with his chin on his hand.

"You know," he commented with a pleased look. "I do believe you've put on a bird's worth of weight."

"Do you think so?" Merlin asked with his eyes closed. He could tell that this was not what Arthur really wanted to discuss.

Arthur cleared his throat.

"I've convinced Father," he said quietly, "That there's no need for me to promise the role of Camelot's queen to anyone at present. Not for some time, I should think. Eventually, of course...but you know all that."

There was no need to tattletale on Morgana and Gwen. "Yes," Merlin said calmly. "Like everyone else I'm aware of what will happen...eventually."

"You won't leave?" Arthur asked, and then persisted, "You'll stay with me."

There was a touch of the old bullying arrogance in his voice, but Merlin's ear caught something else that made him turn his head and meet Arthur's look directly.

Arthur raised his eyebrows with a half smile, the familiar _well, I'm waiting_ look that Merlin remembered from their very first meeting, and suddenly he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He put his shoulder to Arthur's shoulder and pushed until the prince was on his back and he himself lay above him (a first).

"Is that all you need to know, you smug prat?" he heard himself say, looking down, and saw the surprise on Arthur's face although his expression barely changed. He also knew that it would take little effort on Arthur's part to reverse their positions and was mildly astonished that he made no attempt to do so.

Arthur squinted up at Merlin and put one hand on the back of his head, twining his fingers in the unruly black hair and pulling him down. Then he kissed him for a long time (even in a drowsy, post-coital state he could be remarkably amorous) before pressing his face into Merlin's neck and mumbling something, all slurred together, that sounded faintly like "Iloveyouneedyou." And then, with a return to the pratlike possessiveness, "You're _mine_."

There was a pause during which they both regained their breath.

"Of course I'll stay," Merlin said simply. "For always."

After that it was a scramble to dress and put things in order, locate Arthur's golden circlet--which had somehow rolled into a corner--and the key, which wasn't found until they shook out and folded the blankets. Then Merlin dusted them both off, eliciting more sneezes, and reached for the candle while Arthur scooped up Merlin's red neckcloth and his own jacket.

In a ritual that was becoming habit, they looked each other over quickly, checking for marks or signs of their ardor.

Arthur narrowed his eyes for a moment before the corner of his mouth quivered and he extended his hand with the square of red cloth.

"I think you're going to have to wear your neckscarf for at least a week," he said with a grin.

Merlin blushed.

FIN.


	6. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

Uther's good weather held through the third and final day of feasting. The following morning the sky was grey tinged with rose as visiting nobles and other guests made their farewells to the king, his son, and his ward in the great courtyard. A half hour later the crown prince and his manservant stood on the battlements, looking on as the parade of visitors and their entourages file slowly through the barbican beneath the teeth of the giant portcullis.

Merlin leaned over the stone parapet to watch them go. Earlier that morning–at dawn to be precise–he had said goodbye to his mother, enveloping her in a bearlike hug before presenting her with a travel pack filled with delicacies from the king's high table, a gift from Gwen. As they left Gaius' rooms they had found Gwen herself, waiting on the paving stones to wish Hunith well on her journey. Merlin thanked her for the food.

"Oh, that's all right," she had whispered back, squeezing his arm. "It's the least I could do for her. And there was plenty left over from the feasts."

"Uther wouldn't be pleased," Merlin replied, smiling. "Stealing food for the rabble."

"Well, he won't be pleased with _you,_ Merlin, if he sees you. All servants are supposed to be in official livery this morning."

"What's he going to do, put me in the stocks again?"

"He'll put you in the stocks _wearing the hat._"

They had still been trying not to laugh out loud when, to their surprise, Morgana and Arthur descended the steps from the main portal to bid Hunith godspeed. Flushed with pleasure, Hunith had glanced from Arthur's handsome visage to her son's before bowing her head in courteous deference. As she walked toward the far end of the courtyard, where she would meet her traveling companions, she had looked back once and smiled at the two young men standing side by side.

"He likes you," Merlin remembered her having said to him, during the prince's brief sojourn in Ealdor, and he recalled his reply, "That's because he doesn't know me." Well, Arthur knew about him now. And loved him in spite of his officially unacceptable talent. If Hunith somehow had become aware of this (and how would she have?) she had not said so, but Merlin had the feeling that perhaps that was the case.

The bright green cape of the king of Rheged (such an unfortunate color really, it made him look even more frighteningly rotund than he actually was) and the matching caparison of the horse upon which he was precariously balanced caught Merlin's eye and he leaned even farther over the parapet, like a child watching a passing parade of mummers and minstrels. He felt Arthur's hand gently grasp his belt, tugging until he took a step backward. Below, in the courtyard, he could see Gwen chatting with Gaius; as if his stare had called to them they turned to look up at the battlements and waved. Merlin waved back. His final step back had brought him shoulder to shoulder with Arthur–they were much of a height–and because of the chest-high parapet no one below could see that their hands were now loosely linked.

"_Mer_lin," Arthur said quietly, "Stop fidgeting. Are you seriously trying to go headfirst onto the cobblestones?"

Merlin turned the full force of his infectious grin in his direction and Arthur blinked, slightly overwhelmed by the emotion that shone at him from those blue eyes. Under the circumstances (as much as he yearned for him, he had no desire to become putty in Merlin's hands) he felt obligated to reassert his superior status, if only a little.

"I realize," he muttered caustically, "That a fall from here wouldn't damage you; that you could break your fall at the last minute, with a snap of your fingers or whatever. But that really wouldn't do, and you know it. So _stop_."

Merlin gave an involuntary snort of laughter, but he quickly composed his features, stopped smiling, and lowered his gaze to examine the courtyard once more. At the same time, however, his fingers curled more tightly around Arthur's and his thumb stroked the inside of Arthur's wrist before he released his hold and drew his hand away.

_I must be losing my grip_, Arthur grumbled to himself. _I'm getting soft. I'm letting Merlin take advantage..._But he knew that Merlin would never take advantage of him in any way, just as Merlin would never be completely subservient to him. _Don't hire a bootlicker_, he had once told the crown prince, and even in the early stages of their passion he had never fawned over Arthur or abased himself as people in love often do. When they were alone, even when he was panting and responsive in Arthur's arms, it was only his body that was yielding and compliant, never his mind. Merlin may have given his heart, but there was a strength of character, independence, and a kind of bashful confidence beneath the veneer of obedient servitude, that the warrior in Arthur–even during his most arrogant moments–recognized and mentally saluted.

"Father's riding to Rheged next week," he said in a noncommital tone as his eyes followed the procession of guests still wending its way beneath the portcullis. "He's become very keen on cementing relations with the neighboring kings. Thank God, though, he's given up any notion of marrying me to that fellow's daughter."

"Next week," echoed Merlin in a voice that was equally noncommital. "If my lord of Rheged doesn't fall off his horse first."

Arthur shot Merlin a questioning glance.

"I mean just _look_ at him," Merlin said conversationally. "He'll never make it as far as the border. He'll _roll_ off his horse."

"In the event that he doesn't," Arthur murmured, "I think we can safely say that there will be no need for you to worry about your sleeping arrangements while Father's away."

Merlin was now staring down at the courtyard with a diligence, and he did not turn his head. But Arthur could see the pale skin above those cheekbones crinkle as his lips curved upward in another smile.

"Well," Merlin finally said in the most casual of voices. "It'll be a nice change from the stone floor of Morgana's storeroom."


End file.
